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Daily w§ Trojan
Volume LXVIII, No. 56
University of Southern California
Los Angeles, California
Thursday, December 11, 1975
THE
By Frank Saenz
The university’s neighbors move around the university as if it were a fortress, walking along the iron fences, peering inside the concrete parking structure, eyeing-warily the Campus Security cruisers. Most have never seen Tommy Trojan in the heart of the campus.
They wage their mental guerilla warfare against the university’s apparent self-imposed isolation. Alarms, chains, ropes and guard gates are clearly visible. Some claim it is less a university than a Bastille—a nearly impregnable bastion defended by its own police force.
Symbols of affluence—the new buildings, the flashy cars, the Row, the construction—have become targets of frustration by the community. The university’s appearance is inevitably compared to the community’s blighted environment.
The image the community has of “the fortress” is complicated. The temper, the mood, is a multihued and shifting cloud laced with a thousand threads of aloofness, resentment, frustration, hope and despair.
It involves the extent of the university’s responsibilities toward its impoverished neighborhood and the effect it has had on the community. Does the university have a social responsibility toward the community? And does the community have the right to feel threatened by the university?
•
Four men settled into a booth at Julie’s Restaurant. They are members of ethnic minorities ofthe area—black and Chicano. One is a bartender in a nearby bar, one works for the university as a janitor, another is unemployed arid on welfare and the fourth is a counselor at a nearby health clinic.
All live in the vicinity of the university—dwellers in an area of fading dreams, the men say .They gathered at an invitation to discuss what was on their minds about the university.
“I’ve changed my feelings about USC students,” the janitor began. “They no more care about the community than the community cares about Palos Verdes or Bel Air. I’d always thought they were a bunch of snobby bastards. For the most part they are, but I realize ;here are a few who wouldn’t mind talking to me.”
“I feel threatened by the students,” the unemployed man said, “because they don’t give a shit about the community as a whole. Sure, the area has been fixed up with the Hoover Redevelopment Project, but has it done us any good? Hell, in order to build they had to clear us out of the way. I was stuck in an apartment over on Vermont Avenue.”
A university spokeman later admitted that there were some people who
the community'!; view
didn’t want to move. “We heard a few cases where the people had emotional attachments,” he said. “Yet I think the people benefitted more under urban renewal. What is wrong with tearing down old, rat-infested, poorly constructed houses and relocating the residents in clean, well-constructed apartments?
“A new public library was built along with a mini-shopping mall on the other side of Vermont Avenue. We did have people who were relocated because of the university’s expansion. But we have to remember the university was here first; and eminent domain—the right of the government to take private property for public use—was given to the university. The university itself did not take the property from the people. And eminent domain, in this case, served a socially useful purpose.”
The unemployed man: “The university had no right to take over our property. If it’s a question whether they
were here first, then USC should give the land back to Mexico.”
The bartender: “Hell, the Bank of America discriminates against us. I guess we’re not good enough to stand in line with USC people.”
The counselor: “You look at the situation and wonder if anyone got the message after the 1965 Watts riots.” The area, except that within the Hoover Redevelopment Project, looks much the same as it did 10 years ago. There is still no master plan. No one is sure where the boundaries to the university’s community are. Unemployment figures remain unknown.
And the people aren’t sure they want to consider themselves part ofthe university community.
“USC is a threat to the existence of the community,” the bartender said. “It is slowly tearing down the sanctity of it. We have to go around USC. A small shopping area was built for us. We had to clear out so USC could grow.”
The janitor: “Let’s face it—we put up
with USC even though we resent it. And there is no communication. We still don’t know about USC and it doesn't want to know about us.”
The counselor: “They see us as a large pork barrel, an area where antipoverty opportunists can get rich quick and then split. Or else they use the community for their social work.” “Things could have been so different,” the bartender said. “Now all I hear are outsiders and students saying the area isn’t safe to walk around in.” The counselor: “This sort of nonsense undercuts all the efforts to build bridges between USC and the community.
“What worries me most is the notoriety the area has received for crime. There has to be a framework of laws or society won’t work. But I also know USC hasn’t set the greatest example for the community. They had a riot on 28th Street last year.”
The bartender: “The community hasn’t defended itself against USC the way they have against us.”
The counselor: “Let’s take the idea of Campus Security. What do they do? They write tickets, they tow away cars even though they don’t really have the right do do it and they keep us out. Talk about creepy crawlers. They even hassle USC minority students—unless they play football.”
'The community is the silent majority. The university is the minority in a sea of blackness.'
“I don’t think the community can deny USC a security force,” the unemployed man said. “We’re in a high-crime area. The attitude around here is that USC people are rich cats and they can afford another bike or car battery.”
The two murders on the Row in the fall of 1974 touched off a panic at USC for protection. The Row became a row of brownstone fortresses. The university beefed up security. But it has yet to be proven that anyone within the surrounding communities was responsible for the murders.
“Since the incident happened in this community, television did features about the crime in the area. The community came off looking bad, and we resented that,” the counselor said.
The Row, the residence halls and apartments have, in fact, become fortresses. Private security guards were hired by most sororities. Peepholes were installed on the doors in Marks Tower. Never has the university been better protected.
The janitor: “It’s not a college. It’s a castle with a man-made moat.” • •
The unemployed man: “How would USC like it if we constructed a brick wall to make sure USC’s people stayed within the confines of the university?” The counselor hinted that the university views the community as if it were looking through the wrong end of a telescope.
(continued on page 10)

Daily w§ Trojan
Volume LXVIII, No. 56
University of Southern California
Los Angeles, California
Thursday, December 11, 1975
THE
By Frank Saenz
The university’s neighbors move around the university as if it were a fortress, walking along the iron fences, peering inside the concrete parking structure, eyeing-warily the Campus Security cruisers. Most have never seen Tommy Trojan in the heart of the campus.
They wage their mental guerilla warfare against the university’s apparent self-imposed isolation. Alarms, chains, ropes and guard gates are clearly visible. Some claim it is less a university than a Bastille—a nearly impregnable bastion defended by its own police force.
Symbols of affluence—the new buildings, the flashy cars, the Row, the construction—have become targets of frustration by the community. The university’s appearance is inevitably compared to the community’s blighted environment.
The image the community has of “the fortress” is complicated. The temper, the mood, is a multihued and shifting cloud laced with a thousand threads of aloofness, resentment, frustration, hope and despair.
It involves the extent of the university’s responsibilities toward its impoverished neighborhood and the effect it has had on the community. Does the university have a social responsibility toward the community? And does the community have the right to feel threatened by the university?
•
Four men settled into a booth at Julie’s Restaurant. They are members of ethnic minorities ofthe area—black and Chicano. One is a bartender in a nearby bar, one works for the university as a janitor, another is unemployed arid on welfare and the fourth is a counselor at a nearby health clinic.
All live in the vicinity of the university—dwellers in an area of fading dreams, the men say .They gathered at an invitation to discuss what was on their minds about the university.
“I’ve changed my feelings about USC students,” the janitor began. “They no more care about the community than the community cares about Palos Verdes or Bel Air. I’d always thought they were a bunch of snobby bastards. For the most part they are, but I realize ;here are a few who wouldn’t mind talking to me.”
“I feel threatened by the students,” the unemployed man said, “because they don’t give a shit about the community as a whole. Sure, the area has been fixed up with the Hoover Redevelopment Project, but has it done us any good? Hell, in order to build they had to clear us out of the way. I was stuck in an apartment over on Vermont Avenue.”
A university spokeman later admitted that there were some people who
the community'!; view
didn’t want to move. “We heard a few cases where the people had emotional attachments,” he said. “Yet I think the people benefitted more under urban renewal. What is wrong with tearing down old, rat-infested, poorly constructed houses and relocating the residents in clean, well-constructed apartments?
“A new public library was built along with a mini-shopping mall on the other side of Vermont Avenue. We did have people who were relocated because of the university’s expansion. But we have to remember the university was here first; and eminent domain—the right of the government to take private property for public use—was given to the university. The university itself did not take the property from the people. And eminent domain, in this case, served a socially useful purpose.”
The unemployed man: “The university had no right to take over our property. If it’s a question whether they
were here first, then USC should give the land back to Mexico.”
The bartender: “Hell, the Bank of America discriminates against us. I guess we’re not good enough to stand in line with USC people.”
The counselor: “You look at the situation and wonder if anyone got the message after the 1965 Watts riots.” The area, except that within the Hoover Redevelopment Project, looks much the same as it did 10 years ago. There is still no master plan. No one is sure where the boundaries to the university’s community are. Unemployment figures remain unknown.
And the people aren’t sure they want to consider themselves part ofthe university community.
“USC is a threat to the existence of the community,” the bartender said. “It is slowly tearing down the sanctity of it. We have to go around USC. A small shopping area was built for us. We had to clear out so USC could grow.”
The janitor: “Let’s face it—we put up
with USC even though we resent it. And there is no communication. We still don’t know about USC and it doesn't want to know about us.”
The counselor: “They see us as a large pork barrel, an area where antipoverty opportunists can get rich quick and then split. Or else they use the community for their social work.” “Things could have been so different,” the bartender said. “Now all I hear are outsiders and students saying the area isn’t safe to walk around in.” The counselor: “This sort of nonsense undercuts all the efforts to build bridges between USC and the community.
“What worries me most is the notoriety the area has received for crime. There has to be a framework of laws or society won’t work. But I also know USC hasn’t set the greatest example for the community. They had a riot on 28th Street last year.”
The bartender: “The community hasn’t defended itself against USC the way they have against us.”
The counselor: “Let’s take the idea of Campus Security. What do they do? They write tickets, they tow away cars even though they don’t really have the right do do it and they keep us out. Talk about creepy crawlers. They even hassle USC minority students—unless they play football.”
'The community is the silent majority. The university is the minority in a sea of blackness.'
“I don’t think the community can deny USC a security force,” the unemployed man said. “We’re in a high-crime area. The attitude around here is that USC people are rich cats and they can afford another bike or car battery.”
The two murders on the Row in the fall of 1974 touched off a panic at USC for protection. The Row became a row of brownstone fortresses. The university beefed up security. But it has yet to be proven that anyone within the surrounding communities was responsible for the murders.
“Since the incident happened in this community, television did features about the crime in the area. The community came off looking bad, and we resented that,” the counselor said.
The Row, the residence halls and apartments have, in fact, become fortresses. Private security guards were hired by most sororities. Peepholes were installed on the doors in Marks Tower. Never has the university been better protected.
The janitor: “It’s not a college. It’s a castle with a man-made moat.” • •
The unemployed man: “How would USC like it if we constructed a brick wall to make sure USC’s people stayed within the confines of the university?” The counselor hinted that the university views the community as if it were looking through the wrong end of a telescope.
(continued on page 10)